


The King of Tallstoria

by the_alchemist



Category: The Ten Stupidest Things I've Heard Since Richard III's Remains Were Identified (Blog Post)
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_alchemist/pseuds/the_alchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those ne'er-do-well Tudors are cooking up a scheme to slander Richard III, the handsome, chivalrous and EXTREMELY STRAIGHT-BACKED king who preceeded them ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King of Tallstoria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lost_spook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/gifts).



"Bring him in," said Henry VIII, biting the head off a puppy. "Is this the man?"

Thomas Cromwell ushered in the most disreputable figure Henry had ever seen: ill-fitting leather doublet, shifty eyes, a pair of knuckle dusters hanging from his belt.

"Are you the fucking king?" he said, picking his nose.

"Yes," said Henry. "Are you the fucking writer?"

"Yeah."

"And Cromwell told you what I want? A hatchet job, right?"

"Yeah. Not easy. Everyone knows Richard III was the flower of English chivalry. Tall, handsome, straight-backed, brave, generous, loyal, particularly nice to his nephews, and did I already mention the astonishing way in which his spine was perfectly perpendicular to the ground?" He coughed and spat out a gobbet of green phlegm onto the floorboards

"History is written by the winners," said Henry.

* * *

"I know he's a good writer," said Henry, watching from the window as down below the writer took a piss against the chapel wall. "But can we trust him?" He got out his crossbow and started firing on some passing peasants.

Cromwell laughed. "Not one bit," he said. "He's a man totally without conscience or ethical integrity. He would sell his own mother for sixpence." He referred to his notes. "Sorry, _did_ sell his own mother for sixpence. But don't worry. I'll keep him in line."

"But who's going to believe a book written by someone like that?"

"No worries there either," said Cromwell, taking a turn with the crossbow. "I'm going to do to his reputation the precise opposite of what he's doing to Richard's. Maybe I'll even get him made a saint." Cromwell looked thoughtful. He'd been joking of course – the infamous Thomas More a saint!? – but when he came to think about it ... "No, scratch that. A _martyr_. That should solve the trust problem too."

They watched More sneaking out of the chapel, his doublet stuffed with the silver candlesticks from the altar.

* * *

Of course, there were still problems to be worked out, Cromwell reflected. What if in years to come they dug up the body, noticed the remarkable non-bendiness of his spine, and the whole tissue of lies came tumbling down? Why, it could even be the case that by that time they had magicians who could tell who someone was just by doing tests on little bits of bone.

What this called for was an hereditary network of spies, devoted to studying the natural philosophy of bones, poised for action should the body ever be dug up. He took up his pen and started to draft a royal charter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to beta readers R and S, Susan Higginbotham and whoever it was who suggested the lead osteologist on the Leicester dig is a Tudor spy. Apologies to Thomas More, from whom I also filched part of the title.


End file.
